Adjusted (M/F story)

Susan did her best puppy-dog eyes, staring up at her boyfriend. "Please? I need you to do this. For me?"

Benjamin sighed, shaking his head. "We've talked about this, Susan."

"Why not?" she said, leaning against him, feeling his warmth against her as they laid in bed. "Why won't you spank me?"

"It's weird, Susan. It's weird and it's dangerous. Why don't you just get that idea out of your head? It's not going to happen."

Once again, she'd failed to convince him. She wasn't too surprised; he'd never understood how important it was for her, the pain, the humiliation, the complete loss of control, the feeling of someone else holding her responsible. When she was younger, she'd told herself she'd never get involved with someone that couldn't satisfy that part of her.

That was before she met Ben. He was handsome, intelligent, and kind. He shared her love of literature, her weakness for Chinese food, and he loved her as much as she loved him. Perfect in every way, but one.

But there had to be a way. There must be some way to get him to give her the spanking that she wanted – no, needed!

Four weeks later, he knelt by the car, examining the damage. "It's not that bad, is it?" she said. "I mean, it can be fixed, can't it?" She could see his hands trembling a little in rage, and took a step back. He didn't seem too interested in talking to her right now.

"This is more than scratched paint," he told her, trying his very best to remain calm. "It'll have to be at the mechanic's for at least a month, if not more. "He glanced up at her, his voice strangely calm, but his eyes betrayed his emotions. "Do you have any idea how much harder you just made those four weeks? Getting to work, grocery shopping?"

She bit her lip, tears at the edges of her eyes. He turned around and stepped back inside, heading to the basement to brood. She knew better than to disturb him in moments like these.

She headed upstairs to change out of her work clothes, wishing there was a way to calm him down, to get him to forgive her. As she opened the closet, her eyes fell on the long, flat package at the back. She smiled to herself. Maybe there was.

He was sitting in his favourite chair, reading his favourite book, when he heard her walking down the stairs behind him. She walked to his side, looking down at him, but he ignored her, focusing on the book. As the minutes passed, and she stood at his side, saying nothing, he finally looked up. "What?" he snapped.

She bit her lip, her face quite pale as she stood before him, dressed in her business skirt with her hands behind her back. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry that I dented the car, I'm sorry that I was careless."

He was surprised to hear her call him "sir", but he still glared at her. "Sorry isn't good enough, Susan," he said, trying to return to his book.

"I know, sir. That's why I think you should punish me." And she handed him the paddle that she'd been holding behind her back. He took it, grabbing the handle as he stared at the thick wood. The words "Attitude Adjuster" was written across the board. It was one of the things she'd brought from her own apartment. He'd always found it weird. But right now, the thought of Susan bent over, crying in pain as he painted her bare cheeks red with the hard wood, was more appealing than it had ever been.

"You know what?" he said, standing up. "I think so too."

She smiled, grateful, but nervous, and more than a little bit scared.

She walked over to the writing desk they'd placed in the corner, flipping her skirt up before bending over the desk. As she hadn't been wearing panties, she knew she had to make a very inviting target. She heard him step up behind her, patting the paddle against his palm. "You're going to think twice before you're that careless again," he told her. "I'm going to make sure of that."

She cried out in pain as the first stroke of the paddle made contact with her rear end. She'd been paddled before, by boyfriends in college, but that had always been erotic games. Ben was angry, and he wasn't playing. He was punishing her. And she had asked him to do it.

Ben lifted the paddle again and again, raining strokes down on the wriggling bottom in front of him as Susan yelped in pain. "I won't have you being careless," he told her. "The car is not important. What if YOU had been hurt?" He took a deep breath, steadying his voice before continuing. "Did you even consider, for the briefest of moments, what would happen if you'd been injured? Or killed?"

Susan was in no state to answer him, so she cried instead, wailing as her bottom turned redder and redder. At last, when the rear end in front of him had turned crimson, and Susan had no more tears left, Ben dropped the paddle, letting it fall to the floor. He helped her up, and they hugged, her head against his chest.

"So, still mad about the car?" she said once she'd calmed down a bit.

"No," he said. "Are you ok?" he said, his voice full of concern. She could tell that he regretted his anger.

"I'll live," she told him, "But I'll have to stand through dinner for a week or so."

She picked up the paddle, handing it to him. "Why don't you keep this somewhere safe, and close?"

He took it. "Yes. I have a feeling I'll use it again."

She shuddered. Whether from fear or delight, she didn't know.